I woke to fog and pain and the sensation of being lowered. Panic rose in my chest, and I struggled to get away from the hands gripping me even as the world spun. “Let me go,” I mumbled, lashing out blindly as my heels struck the ground. “Let me go!”
“Easy, Freya,” a deep voice said from behind me. A voice I recognized, though when I turned to look at him, his face was a blur. “Bjorn?” His name stuck in my throat, my mouth dry as sand and my tongue thick.
“The salve is wearing off,” he said by way of answer. “You’ll see clearly soon enough, though you might wish otherwise when the pain returns.” He lifted his head. “Send someone to fetch Liv. Tell her it’s a burn.” He hesitated. “Tyr’s fire.”
“You heard him,” a woman’s voice shouted. “Go! Be swift about it.” Then in a tone as cold as frost, she added, “Why did you hurt her, you cursed fool? What good is a shield maiden with only one hand?”
“She only needs one to hold a shield.” Bjorn’s tone was light, but his fingers tightened where they gripped my waist.
I turned to see who’d speak so to the son of the jarl, my vision focusing enough to reveal a woman perhaps two dozen years my senior. Her long reddish-brown hair hung in loose curls that framed a lovely face, though my eyes went to the heavy gold earrings that glinted in the sun. Not just gold, but jewels, and I gaped at them in fascination.
“Is she dense as well as maimed?” the woman demanded, and my eyes snapped to hers. They were the palest of blues, with a thin rim of black around them. The color reminded me of frozen waterfalls in the dead of winter.
“A matter under debate,” Bjorn answered. “Freya, this is Ylva, Jarl Snorri’s wife and lady of Halsar.”
Didn’t that make her his mother?
“My lady.” I tried to incline my head in respect, but the motion sent a wave of dizziness over me, and if not for Bjorn’s support, I’d have staggered into her.
Ylva made a noise of disgust. “Where is my husband?”
“He rides slow, you know that. Where can I put Freya?”
Bjorn had been right about the pain. I could see clearly now, but each pulse of my blood seemed to ratchet the agony to a higher level. My skin was icy cold where it wasn’t burning, and I started to shiver anew. “I don’t feel well.”
“She looks like she’s dying,” Ylva said. “Where is Snorri?”
“On my heels, I’m sure.”
Nausea rolled up inside me, and I pulled from Bjorn’s grip to vomit, though all that came up was bile. The force of it drove me to my knees and would’ve seen my hand planted into the mud if Bjorn hadn’t grabbed my elbow, holding it high.
“Lovely.” Ylva huffed out a breath. “Bring her inside. Assuming she lives, this will be her home now.”
Home.
As Bjorn lifted me, careful not to touch my hand, my eyes went to the building we stood before. A great hall. Though shaped the same as any other home, this structure was twice the height of any I’d ever seen, the planks forming the walls carved with runes and knotwork, and the twin doors large enough to allow five men to enter abreast. As we stepped into the dim interior, my eyes skipped over a raised platform where two large chairs sat. Before them were tables flanking a stone hearth at least a dozen feet long. From the ceiling high above dangled interwoven racks of antlers decorated with silver, and a second level overlooked the common area.
They took me past the tables to the rear of the space, which was separated from the room by thick hangings suspended from the level above. There were several cots there, and Bjorn steered me toward one of them.
With no small amount of relief, I lay down, the furs beneath me thick and soft, as were those Bjorn drew over me, though they did nothing to drive away the chill. I shivered and shook, most of the water from the cup he held to my mouth pouring down my chin rather than my throat. His hand curled around the base of my head, lifting it and holding me steady. I swallowed the water greedily, then slumped back. “Hurts.”
“I know.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep my tears in check, not wanting to show any more weakness. “How could you know? It doesn’t burn you.” My tone was more bitter than I intended.
“Tyr’s fire doesn’t, but ordinary fire does.” He turned, pulling up his shirt to reveal hard muscle, tattooed skin, and, across one shoulder blade, a twist of faded white scar unmarked by the black ink of his tattoos. “Set a cabin afire the first time I called the flame as a child. A burning beam fell on me. It’s not a pain you forget.”
It wasn’t.
This was the sort of pain that lived in memory.
I watched as he settled on a stool next to the bed. He bent to examine my hand—which I was studiously not looking at—and I took the opportunity to run my eyes over his high cheekbones and strong jaw, his nose slightly crooked where I suspected it had once been broken. Stubble almost hid a dimple in his chin, and at this angle, I could see the edges of a crimson tattoo on the back of his neck, which would be the mark of his bloodline. His hair was a pure sort of black I’d rarely seen, the sunlight coming in from the opening in the roof turning strands of it blue rather than brown.
A piece had come loose from the tie at the back of his head, and it chose that moment to come untucked from behind his ear, falling across his cheek. Instinctively I lifted my right hand to brush it away, but the motion sent a stab of agony up my arm.
My right hand.
The hand I used for everything, and I might lose it. Fear of that more than the pain itself sent a hot tear trickling down my cheek, and I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, it was to find Bjorn regarding me intently, his expression unreadable. “Was it worth it?” he asked.
The memory of my brother crawling after Vragi, desperate to stop him, filled my mind’s eye. If I hadn’t acted, Vragi would have taken Ingrid just for spite, destroyed her, then cast her aside. Or more likely, once he was able to walk, Geir would have killed Vragi and then been executed for murder by Snorri. Now, at least, they’d have a chance. If it cost me my hand, so be it. “Yes.”
Bjorn made a low humming sound, then nodded. “Thought you might say that.”
Silence stretched between us, and in it, the pain worsened. Desperate to knock it back, I said, “You let me go. Why?”
“What makes you say that? You’ve got a hard skull—my chin still aches.” He’d returned to his examination of my injuries. “You got away from me.”
“Liar,” I whispered, agony making me bold. If there was ever a chance to ask hard questions, now was the time.
Bjorn went entirely still, then turned his head, sunlight causing his green eyes to glow. “Vragi was a piece of shit who betrayed his own wife for wealth. Didn’t seem right to deny you your vengeance, though I thought you’d attack him with your fists, not…” He trailed off, making a face. “I underestimated how intensely you hated him.”
I had hated him, but searching for the emotion now, I found nothing. Felt nothing, despite having murdered my own husband in cold blood. The absence of reaction, good or bad, within me was unnerving and I swallowed hard.
The scrape of shoes on the wooden floor caught our attention. Bjorn stood as a small, fair-skinned woman with a halo of crimson curls appeared, Ylva at her heels. “Liv.”
“Why is it that if there is trouble, you are always at the center of it, Bjorn?”
“Always is an exaggeration.” He grinned at her, all good looks, white teeth, and sparkling eyes—a look I imagined got him out of a fair bit of said trouble, but the small woman only snorted. “Go flirt with someone who’s interested, you wool-brained creature. I’ve neither time nor interest in your nonsense.”
I huffed out a laugh, and the woman turned her soft brown eyes on me and smiled. “If you can laugh, then you’re not in the grave just yet.” She set her satchel next to the bed, then sat on the stool Bjorn had vacated, gently removing the cloth covering my hand.
“She grabbed my axe in a fit of murderous rage.” Bjorn leaned against the wall, then winked at me. “I would not anger her if I were you. Or if you do, don’t turn your back on her.”
“And yet you’ll probably not take your own advice.” Liv made a soft sound, then shook her head and my heart sank even as my fear bloomed bright. She asked, “What’s your name?”
“Never mind her name, will she keep the hand?” Ylva pushed around Bjorn to bend over the bed, making a face at my wound. “She is the shield maiden we’ve been searching for. She will make Snorri king of Skaland, but only if she isn’t rendered useless by her own foolish choices.”
Liv stiffened, glancing to Bjorn for confirmation, but I barely noticed the exchange. Useless. My eyes burned and I blinked rapidly, every dream I’d ever had going up in smoke. “My name is Freya, Erik’s daughter.”
“Pray to Hlin, Freya. For it is in the hands of the gods as to whether you will recover.” Liv looked to Ylva. “Make an offering to Eir. A goat should suffice, but you must do it yourself.”
Ylva’s lip curled, but she said nothing, only nodded and left, shouting at the servants beyond.
“That should keep her busy for a time.” Liv dug into her satchel, extracting a small jar of honey as well as a handful of what looked like moss, setting them on a table. “But first let us look to your pain.”
She put a yellow substance into a clay pot, then held a candle to it until it ignited. Leaning toward my face, she met my eyes. “Breathe deep,” she said, then blew the smoke toward me. I dutifully inhaled, then choked and coughed, sucking in more smoke as I did. Almost instantly, my muscles ceased their shivering and I slumped back against the furs.
“Better?” Liv asked.
I could still feel the burns, but they no longer made me want to scream. “Yes,” I murmured, sinking into a strange sense of euphoria. As though I were in my body…but not. “Is it your magic that I am feeling?” I knew little of the magic of the children of Eir, for they were rare and usually served jarls.
“No.” Liv smiled. “Just a flower with many uses.”
“Don’t get used to it, Freya Charhand. That flower has been the ruin of many,” Bjorn said, and my gaze drifted to his face, uncaring that I was unabashedly staring at him.
“It’s unnatural for someone to have such a beautiful face.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “I cannot tell if that was meant as a compliment or an insult.”
“I’m not sure,” I breathed, feeling an inexplicable desire to touch him to see if he was real or if I was imagining him. “When I saw you coming out of the water, I thought for a moment that Baldur had escaped Helheim, for you couldn’t possibly be human.”
“I think your bit of smoke has done its duty, Liv,” Bjorn said. “Best get on with things, right?”
“Are you blushing, Bjorn?” The healer gave a sly smile. “I hadn’t thought it possible…”
“It’s hot in here.”
“It’s not,” I corrected him, admiring the slight flush of his cheeks. “It’s cold. But you always feel warm, like there is a fire burning inside of you. A fire I’d like to—”
Bjorn lifted my arm, and I broke off, staring with fascination at the red skin marked with blisters, feeling none of the nausea I had earlier at the sight of my charred and blackened palm. Liv picked the worst of it off with tiny silver tweezers, revealing parts of my hand that should not feel the touch of air. Then she smeared honey across my injuries before plucking up the moss and pressing it into the sticky mess on my palm. “Eir,” she whispered, “cast your eyes down upon this woman. If she is worthy, allow me to help her.”
Nothing happened.
Even through the haze of the narcotic, I felt a twinge of fear. Had I been judged unworthy? It would make sense, for had I not hidden my own gift rather than using it, as Hlin intended? Had I not murdered in cold blood the one who’d revealed my secret? Perhaps this was a sign I was not blessed but cursed. A sign the gods had turned their backs on me.
Bjorn’s grip on my elbow tightened almost painfully, and I slowly shifted my gaze to find him staring at my palm, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with…panic? “Don’t be petty, Eir,” he said between his teeth. “You know who deserves the punishment, and it is not her.”
“Bjorn…” Liv’s voice was warning. “Don’t challenge the gods else they might—”
The moss began to grow.
At first, I thought I was seeing things. Yet within heartbeats, the dense green plant covered my palm, circling its way around the back of my hand and swiftly covering my fingers and wrist, not ceasing until all my burns were concealed. “Gods,” I breathed, staring at my moss-covered limb as Bjorn carefully lowered it to rest on my stomach. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Liv was watching Bjorn, her brow still furrowed, and I was not certain whether she was addressing me or him when she said, “Eir has allowed me to heal you, but what form that takes is up to her. When the moss withers, what we find beneath may be flesh as pure as a newborn babe’s or the gnarled limb of an ancient crone.”
“I understand.” A lie, because while Snorri said I was favored, I did not feel so. “Thank you.”
Liv inclined her head. “I serve Eir. Now you must rest, Freya. Let yourself sleep so that your body heals.”
Indeed, I felt the weight of the smoke I’d imbibed dragging me deeper, as though I were sinking into a warm lake, sunlight filling my eyes. I smiled, allowing my lids to shut as I drifted…
“She’ll stay under for hours,” I vaguely heard Liv say. Then, in little more than a whisper, she added, “Is it true? She’s the shield maiden?”
Bjorn made a noise of confirmation. “I struck her shield with my axe and her magic threw me a dozen paces across the clearing and into a tree. On which note, my arse is going to be black and blue for days. You wouldn’t mind—”
“Incentive to keep your trousers on for once,” Liv retorted. “Her arrival means war, and you know it.”
“War is inevitable.”
Liv didn’t answer, and feet thudded against the wooden floor as someone strode away. Curiosity pushed back some of the fog, and I peeled open my eyelids. Liv was gone and Bjorn stood next to my cot, his gaze fixed on my hand. “Why is she so angry?” I asked.
Bjorn jerked as though he’d been caught doing something he should not have been. After a heartbeat of silence, he finally said, “Liv dislikes violence—she’s seen too much of what is left in its wake—and your appearance means more will come.”
A shiver passed over me. “Because of the seer’s prophecy? She thinks I’ll cause a war?”
He was silent for a long moment, then said, “The seer saw a future where you unite all the people of Skaland beneath one king. In our world, power is most often achieved with violence.” He hesitated, then added, “And Hlin is a goddess of war.” He drew the furs higher up my chest, cocooning me in warmth. “But she also protects.”
Frustration wormed its way through the haze. “What does that mean?”
“You are unfated, Freya. Nothing the seer foretold is set in stone.”
Without another word, he walked out of sight.
